


Highway To Hell or: Death On No Legs (Dedicated To...)

by guti



Series: The Continuing Adventures of Merseyside's Finest [6]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, hagfish, lampreys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 17:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11536647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guti/pseuds/guti
Summary: A disturbing newspaper headline rocks lamprey expert and ex-footballer Frank Lampard's world.





	Highway To Hell or: Death On No Legs (Dedicated To...)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anemoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/gifts).



> Lovingly dedicated to Sharon for requesting this nonsense. <3
> 
> Obviously this isn't a full story, but this little addition was begging to be written after this article was [published](https://www.nytimes.com/2017/07/14/us/slime-eels-oregon.html). This is definitely part of the detective AU, and it will make no sense if you skipped Osculum Mortis, so proceed with that in mind.
> 
> Title from Queen. It seemed vaguely appropriate.

The summer had thus far been an uneventful one. Since announcing his retirement from football the prior winter, Frank Lampard had free time in abundance, which suited him well as that meant he could more fully devote himself to the study and protection of lampreys and eels. He loved football, he did, truly, but there was no denying that his affection for the sea creatures had won out in the end. Even after the loss of his private collection, he felt the bond with them to his very core. And he was so lucky to have John there to patiently assist him in his studies. They made one hell of a team, always had, really, and now there was another area of interest they could bond over.

It was a quiet Friday morning at John’s house. He’d taken to staying there more frequently in recent months, given the extensive damage done to his own home when the lamprey tanks burst. At first it was strange, existing in someone else’s space, lacking full control of his surroundings, but little by little, day by day, Frank adjusted. And now, after several happy months, he felt at home enough to help himself to the contents of John’s refrigerator and pantry without pausing to ask for permission first. It truly was the good life.

“I’m off then,” John called down the hall, his training bag slung over his shoulder. “See you in a few. The paper’s on the counter, by the by.”

Frank looked up from the bowl of cereal he was pulling to grunt his acknowledgement as he reached for the newspaper and absently scanned the front page for the news of the day. It was the usual troubles. Some politician or another ran their mouth; a new stoplight was to be voted on by a town council; a local boy won a sheep look alike contest. Nothing in the paper especially interested him until he flipped the paper around and found himself face to face with a headline that sent shivers down his spine and froze him to the core.

“My god, no!” His voice was a strained hiss, engulfed by the clattering sound of his cereal spoon dropping to the floor. “No, no, this can’t be!”

From near the front door, John glanced back at him, concern smattered on his face. “What’s that, Lampsy?”

Frank couldn’t answer though. All he could do was try to sniff back his tears as he shoved the offending paper toward his companion. John narrowed his eyes, first settling on the article about the little sheep-child. 

“Yeah, that’s unnatural, I’d say,” he chuckled, convinced Frank was pulling a joke with him. “Unfortunate looking little scamp, eh? I’d say he looks more like a goat though, if I had to put money on it--”

“Not that!” Frank wailed, shaking the paper in John’s face. “The article beneath it! The report from Oregon!”

John blinked, looked back to Frank, then let out an unsure little laugh. “You mean the bit about the slime eels?”

“Hagfish!” Frank wept. “They’re called hagfish! This is a tragedy of epic proportions, and the police and media treat it like a joke! Hundreds of beautiful, innocent creatures lost their lives yesterday, and the world thinks it’s all a joke!”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and John let out a beleaguered sigh as he took out his phone and composed a quick text to the gaffer to let him know he’d be just a hair late to training. And with that, Frank collapsed into John’s arms, and together they mourned the loss of those poor little hagfish.


End file.
